I blithely and calmly smooth and sweetly soothe the foamy rippling waves, the prayerfully controllable waters lapping at the rocky shoals of my worn-out, but hopefully working through His Grace, exhausted soul.

I desolately reside at 1234 “count to ten” Wits’ End. This eerie locale is dumped at the bottom of a weed-choked swampy dead-end, a place so loathsome even frogs won’t croak here.

What set me off this time? I tangled with my normally benevolent beloved over our friend’s needs/wants. What does it mean to “love thy neighbor as thyself”? If he is hungry, feed him? What if it costs me my precious time and money?

Yes, there are “moochers” always looking for handouts. Yes, I am easily taken advantage of, weeping with those who weep and rejoicing with those who rejoice.

I am tormented between obeying my wise steward husband and those pleading for my time, energy, food. My neuroticism bounces me off walls.

My husband thinks I just want people to like me. I have no difficulty in that department. I am very lovable. But like an overeager puppy, I do respond to all callers.

I get scolded like the child I sometimes am. I pout, I cry – and with my very short but extremely sharp fingernails, I dagger rbbons of ragged bloody flesh on my innocent unsuspecting arms.

Yes, I am one of those unhappy self-loathing, self-mutilating histrionic souls – and why? Is this a pathetic screech for help? Well, yes. Please take note of my abysmal pain. I hurt – badly. I hurt myself badly. I must hide in long clingy sleeves to hide my very literal bloody shame.

Unfortunately, I must see the kidney specialist this afternoon. This may require blood draws. Both of my arms are savagely ravaged. How will I explain this to the horrified phlebotomist taking the blood from my mutilated arm? “I had a run in with my cat?” It hurts to be me.

I am a preacher’s struggling, oft-times nonsensical wife. I should and do know better. I warmly counsel others suffering through their own traumatic angst to turn it over to God – all of it, the pain, confusion, frustration, rebelliousness, nasty temper.

I should maybe listen to myself.

Some of my dear faithful readers are aghast, positively shocked that I am letting so much personal matters be exposed in print. I desperately need your heartfelt prayers. We are called to and must pray for each other, deeply – with great attention to detail.

Simply “blanketing”, generalizing prayer is rather ridiculous, won’t you agree? Our mighty and powerful God knows what we need before we can even prepare to verbalize our highly emotional pleadings.

You know the need – please remember the spiritually starving in prayer. Don’t neglect the poor and hungry, needy souls who, because they find themselves at their wits’ end, wind their way into our hearts. Love thy neighbor as thyself. Good, heartfelt giving of ourselves to bring folks to the realization that God is truly the Provider of all good gifts, and He lovingly presents to us His Son, Jesus, the Christ.

He wants US to know what we need from Him. Need hugs? Understanding? Love? An end to tormenting confusion? We will find all we could ever need in the arms of our Savior. Jesus’ strong welcoming Arms stretch incredibly to meet our every need. We must take our helplessness, our rage, feebleness and bone-chilling agony to His sturdy, stable cross.

Jesus is no longer on His cross because our precious righteous Father resurrected Him to live within us through His Holy Spirit. But we must leave all our pain, sin and regrets at the foot of His cross. He bore it, was nailed to it and died upon it to save us from sin’s deadly force. He frees us to repent – to sin no more.

Dearest Father...

Shame on me. I constantly ask You for Your forgiveness, for Your grace to strengthen me – and then blow it by letting my infantile savage temper rage out of our control.

I am a child, yes. I am Your child, praise You. Thank you. Time for this hysterical child to mature in You...

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Two " red ink" comments. One, "ribbons" is missing the "i." Two... the idea for the piece is great. However I feel like it got muddled with... too many analogies or what I call "fancy" words. I struggled with the flow of the narrative.

You're talented, though. Sincerely. You have a powerful story to tell here.

Your opening paragraph was in need of a trim! Sometimes less is more and the message you are trying to say gets lost in all the words. You gripped me with the self harming and the fact it was a pastor's wife doing the harm. It made me think how we presume some people are OK when they are not. This is worth working on to make it an easier, more powerful read.

Oh my, I love your quirky writing. You have a way with words, (not sure how to describe it though,) that always sucks me into your stories, even when they don't make sense. This one was great for the topic, and if it's a true story I admire your honesty. I love the title and I thought the first, mile long sentence was fitting for what followed. It was an authentic voice for the MC's disjointed ramblings. Love it!

I LOVE your writing style. The words just ripple on the pages and I am caught up in your dance. This is thoroughly enjoyable, as all your reads are. If I could write this well, I wouldn't change a thing.

Wow... there was a lot here. I think a bit too much to easily follow. There were many truths, but I couldn't tell if they were there to teach as much as to make a point that the MC is tormented and dashes from thought to thought, or both. I pray for you to feel God's peace today, and always. He is powerfully using you, I am sure.

I think the first paragraph tells a story in itself: it shows that you started writing a non-fiction story for the challenge, showing us your writing skills (and they are there,) and as you continued, you started pouring your heart into your testimony.
I know several "cutters" who are trying hard to have a relationship with the Savior. They continue to show up for studies and Sabbath services where they receive the word of power. If they do not give up and continue to lay it before the Almighty, they will have the victory and a more abundant life. As will you.
I am praying, Judi.
Dusty

Your honesty in this lavish piece and the image of your empathy turning back on yourself is haunting.
I'm at a loss for the right words to express myself other than you are a brave, colorfully gifted daughter of the King and I pray He sees fits to cloth you with mercy and grace to heal those places where you struggle.